


Zachariah Ponders Angelic Vices (and Castiel's Unexpected Rebellion)

by YamiTami



Series: A Collection of Scenes Which Never Quite Made it into the Book of Chuck (Even Though Becky would have Loved it if They Had) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Contemplation, Gen, Zach is kind of a dick, but Zach is going for the GOLD, don't ask me I just write the stuff, even our beloved Castiel, this fic is seriously him sitting around thinking, well all the angels are dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiTami/pseuds/YamiTami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things, when Castiel rebelled. The final seal was broken, the Winchester brothers were still on their paths to serve as the vessels to Michael and Lucifer, and there was little one small fallen angel could do against the might of Heaven.</p><p>But still, Zachariah wondered... why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zachariah Ponders Angelic Vices (and Castiel's Unexpected Rebellion)

A whisper of muscle memory curled up from the slumbering depths of Zachariah’s vessel and he leaned back in the plush office chair with one hand curled against his mouth. It was something his vessel had done when he was mulling over the dealings of his business, primarily when it came to an investment going unexpectedly awry. Zachariah wasn’t thinking of stock portfolios, but when the little details were stripped away he was in fact pondering his business and an investment which fell through for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp.

Zachariah dealt better with uncertainty than some angels; a product of his station on the ever shifting plane of the mortals, or so he believed. Humans were forever uncertain, forever in flux, forever falling over their own feet. Zachariah was one of the angels who spoke to the humans, the weak little mayflies, and as such he had to know how to quickly adapt to the haphazard nature of their race. However, there was a great deal of difference between being uncertain if a chat with a mortal would go the way he planned and being uncertain about an angel’s reason to _rebel_. To _fall_.

It simply did not make any sense.

When the Righteous Man was sent to Hell, Zachariah was asked to find the angel who would raise the human’s soul from the pit once the first seal had been broken. He found his angel by the human’s tenth subjective year in Hell, but John Winchester proved to be one of those irritatingly unpredictable facets of humanity. Decades passed bound and screaming to the rack and still he refused to pick up the knife. Zachariah had to admit, he was a little impressed, but he was also _very_ patient. All the angels involved in the plan were patient. One does not live millennia and find a delay of decades to be anything other than a passing inconvenience. So, they waited.

It spoke volumes of Zachariah’s ability to adapt to the infuriating behavior of the mortals when he remained the calmest of the commanders when the Righteous Man threw off his chains and strode out of the open maw. It was a setback to be sure, but Zachariah dismissed the baffling case of John Winchester and turned his attention to the sons. Neither was worthy of the title of the Righteous Man, but then again, Zachariah mused that perhaps that was what they needed. John Winchester had proven himself pure in spite of the poison of his long simmering rage and thirst for bloody revenge, either that, or he was simply too strong and too stubborn to give the demons the satisfaction of breaking him. Zachariah placed his bets on the boys being weaker, easier for the demons to twist, and given that it was his idea he had been given the duty of making sure it came to pass.

In the end, he hadn’t the need to bother. The elder sold his soul for the younger such a short time after the opening and closing of the gate that many of the commanders took it as a sign that they were doing God’s will. Zachariah didn’t discount that notion, of course, but he tended to take a more practical view. With the way those stupid boys were living it really was inevitable that this would happen sooner or later, and it just so happened that the one doing the selling was the one the angels needed to be broken.

Zachariah spent Dean Winchester’s last year on Earth watching the mortal carefully. The angel he had chosen to retrieve the father had the seed of doubt in their heads, put there by the resilience shown by the human. Zachariah sent them on a patrol through a particularly sinful section of the cockroaches, to erase the doubts put there by a single man. John Winchester had been... good, it was true, but one truly righteous human did not excuse the failings of the rest. When Lucifer rose the good men such as John Winchester would stand on the side of angels and prove their worth, reigning triumphant when the demons were driven back or dying in the fight and rising up to Heaven’s peaceful embrace.

No, that angel would not do to raise up Dean Winchester once his righteous—but only barely—hand had spilled the blood of the tortured souls. That angel also had a fondness for humans and had wanted to take part in the plan to help cleanse their world of the sickness caused by the sinful. A worthy goal, of course, but it wasn’t the flavor Zachariah needed. What he needed was an angel who had no significant fondness for the mortals, who would be steadfast and predictable, and who would not allow Dean Winchester to plant any doubts.

Zachariah was methodical and thorough. The second Righteous Man was already in Hell when he finally made his choice: The Angel of Thursday.

Castiel had not worn a vessel’s human form in a very long time, and even then it had never been for long. For centuries he had been assigned to the fighting on the outskirts of Hell, pushing back the demons and slaying other creatures who would dare to ally themselves with the black twisted souls. He was a soldier and entirely ill equipped to be a guardian, let alone the guardian to an absorbed, vice ridden excuse of a mortal such as Dean Winchester. Castiel was told about the seals and what the demons were trying to do—he was not, however, told that his commanders wanted to see Lucifer walk free again. Castiel was told that the angels had not pinpointed the location of John Winchester prior to the human valiantly clawing his way from the pit—he was not, however, told that they had not yet bothered to look. He _was_ told that the first Righteous Man refused to succumb to torture for a century, short for an angel but long for such a frail mortal creature—he was not, however, told that this resilience had caused a snag in the plan.

In the early days of the association between the angel and the human, Zachariah was taking no chances. Castiel was to remain in the dark about the endgame, being told only what he needed to know in order to make him dislike Dean Winchester. No seeds would be sown in the steadfast mind of the soldier Castiel. Zachariah had been _sure_

Zachariah allowed the instincts of the flesh he wore to reign and a hand stroked over chin without any conscious input from the angel. There were many reasons why he chose Castiel for the task, all of which swirled through his head, but the reason that seemed to float to the surface the most was the fact that Castiel had never been one for overindulgence on the odd occasion he did use a vessel. In fact, Castiel had never been one for any significant degree of indulgence.

The fact was that angels were meant to be completely immune to the siren calls of the flesh, but in practice... Zachariah was a practical angel, so he didn’t deny it as some of the others would. Every angel who had ever taken a vessel had some temptation, some vice, in which they indulged. As long as it was kept small, a passing curiosity, then it was no great threat to the holiness of the angel in question. It was only when the vice got in the way of an angel’s duties that their superiors would take a closer look at how far they had fallen to temptation.

The vice varied with the angel. For many it was the lure of smell and taste as it came in the form of food. Angels had no direct corollary to the act of eating and Zachariah doubted that there was a single angel who had at not eaten at least one meal out of curiosity. Zachariah had when his first vessel’s memory twitched in response to the smell of a favored dish. It was interesting, he decided, but not so much that it would become his worldly vice.

The occasional indulgence in a greasy cheeseburger or a fine glass of wine, that was acceptable.

For others it was something tactile, a sense which was less of a mystery to the true angelic form but which translated far differently when it came through the filter of a mortal vessel. The interest in touch often showed in the angel’s choice of wardrobe. Traditionally, the angel would keep the clothes of their vessel plus or minus a few layers, and the only time it was considered necessary to find a new style of dress was when an angel remained long enough that the fashion changed and their original clothing would stand out as odd. However, if a particular fabric was an angel’s vice then they’d often incorporate it into their clothing, sometimes changing the style to suit the desired fabric. Zachariah knew of one angel who desired the touch of silk who would always change their vessel’s clothes for something suiting of a scarf or two.

A fleeting preference, left behind with their vessel once the job was done. Nothing to worry about.

Food, clothing, music, dancing, pleasures of sex, pains of mortal flesh, literature, film... Zachariah’s vice, as it happened, had flitted between orchestras and plays until the human invention of documentaries. He watched them and laughed at the ignorance of the poor monkeys, particularly when it came to the religious or historical inaccuracies. Indulging in a vice was something every angel did, in some form or another, when they were bound to a vessel. It was acceptable, within a certain limit, and it was not something that would necessarily disqualify an angel from a duty as important as bringing the broken Righteous Man back from the pit.

And then—and _then_ —there was The Angel of Thursday. Castiel, as it happened, liked the rain. He liked the sound of the ocean. And that, really, was about it when it came to Castiel’s worldly vices. His quiet preferences were remarkably humble, and worlds and planes away from the preferences of Dean Winchester. This pure angel would be repulsed by his charge’s ways, and that was good. That was what Zachariah had been counting on.

How, how, how had it gone wrong?

Castiel was a sharp sword, a heavy hammer, he was a soldier and little else. It wasn’t an insult when Uriel said this to Zachariah and it wasn’t an insult when Zachariah said it to Michael. Castiel was steadfast, he was loyal, and by the divine was he _effective_. No more could be asked of an angel such as Castiel, one who was created to wade through the shredded remains of twisted demonic souls at Hell’s fringe. That had been where Castiel had been stationed for quite some time, and it was easy enough to use that as the reason to send him to retrieve Dean Winchester. Castiel knew the landscape, he knew how to fight his way through, and a single angel would have an easier time slipping through to the deeper parts of the pit than an entire garrison. Castiel was told all of this when he was given his orders to withdraw from the front so he would be able to move quickly when the Righteous Man was located.

What Castiel was not told was that reconnaissance had already found the area Dean Winchester was being held in. He wasn’t told that they were waiting for the signs that the first seal had been broken. Uriel frowned at the idea of keeping his sharpest sword in the dark, but Zachariah felt it was the right gamble. Not necessarily on the part of Castiel, but on the part of the Righteous Man.

One of the things Castiel had not been told was that he would remain the human’s guardian and guide after raising him from the pit. Once the deed had been done the angel’s superiors would pass it off as a last minute change. They would say they had decided that given the ordeal Dean Winchester had been through he might be more receptive to the angel who raised him. Castiel would balk at the idea of being a guardian as he was ill suited for it, but his superiors would say that desperate times called for everyone to step outside of their comfort zone, and they knew that Castiel would rise to the challenge. And then, true to form, Castiel would.

When Castiel returned from remaking Dean Winchester’s body and returning the soul to its home of flesh, Zachariah stood by as the others read the script he had given them. And Castiel had read his part perfectly, from the hesitation to the understanding to the acceptance, and once the newly appointed guardian departed Zachariah allowed himself a very human smirk.

Castiel had not been told that he had been specifically chosen to be a terrible match to the so called Righteous Man. Castiel did not disappoint, and neither did Dean Winchester.

John Winchester had held out for one hundred years and escaped before there was blood spilled by his hand, which was impressive to say the least. But he was older, and wiser, and more focused than his son. It was unrealistic to hold Dean Winchester to the same standard, but only an angel with a great deal of experience with the monkeys would know it was unrealistic. Castiel had no such context, and he only saw a son who broke in thirty years where the father lasted a century. John Winchester’s unexpected resilience turned from a setback to a wonderful boon as he became the standard to which Castiel measured the angry, lustful, drunkard Dean Winchester.

It meant that Castiel would not grow attached to the less than Righteous Man. He would not question whether the plan to unleash Lucifer was the correct path based on the strength of a single exemplary human. And it worked; the stupid human’s brash and disrespectful nature brought out Castiel’s anger to a degree which delighted Zachariah. Castiel dutifully stuck to his mission, but he was not happy about it.

When Castiel _was_ told about the endgame he did question. He did doubt then. It was expected, not only by Zachariah but by Castiel’s other superiors. The angel had spent most of his existence in the thick of things in Hell, so naturally he’d feel repulsed by the idea of setting that loose on the mortal plane. It was instinct, and a justified instinctive reaction was completely understandable—providing that Castiel came around once he’d had a moment to let logic catch up. But then to Zachariah’s unpleasant surprise Castiel still refused after his initial disgust had worn off. It hadn’t been outright rebellion, but Castiel was prepared to argue. In the end they had to rip him from his vessel and hold him in Heaven until he’d been made to see the light.

Zachariah quickly discovered the source of Castiel’s hesitance: it was the sense of betrayal. There were other things, his instinctive disgust at the idea of giving the demons any sort of edge being close to the top, but it was primarily the feeling that this act was an act of treachery. Some of it was on the part of his superiors who sought to bring Armageddon to the mortal plane, the feeling that they were setting wolves on the flock they were supposed to protect. But the thing that Castiel held on to the longest was the idea that he had been disloyal to _Dean Winchester_.

It was a fumble, but Zachariah was able to save things. He’d forgotten, just a bit, that Castiel was a _soldier_. And, for all his shortcomings, Dean Winchester was one of the closest things the monkeys had to an angel stationed in Hell. He fought demons, he hated the things, and would do anything to see them put down. Furthermore, any garrison stationed at the fringes of the pit had to rely on each other. They had to _trust_. While Dean Winchester was a far cry from Castiel’s brothers, and it wasn’t as though Castiel had ever forgotten that simple fact, there was still a sense that this was his new garrison of two.

Castiel made things more difficult, but even though the whole ordeal left Zachariah frustrated he couldn’t really fault the other angel. Castiel was what he was, a sharp blade and a heavy hammer, and he saw things through the filter of the strong arm bringing down justice upon the heads of the damned. Trust was a very serious thing to break for an angel like that, even if it _was_ done in the name of the Father.

Once they convinced Castiel of the importance of seeing this through to the end it turned out that the whole ordeal was to their benefit. Due to Zachariah’s quick thinking and a happy accident or two Castiel’s moment of doubt actually worked very well in their favor. The Winchester brothers saw Castiel claim the body of a scared young girl, only leaving when her terrified and dying father begged him. Castiel was recast as the uncaring angel and whatever shadow of camaraderie between him and Dean Winchester vaporized. Things were neatly back on track with Lucifer’s vessel consuming more and more demonic blood, Michael’s vessel remaining in the dark, and Castiel once again strictly on mission.

It was working.

It was going well.

It made no _sense_.

In the grand scheme of things it mattered little, when The Angel of Thursday fell. It was too little, too late, and Sam Winchester still spilled Lilith’s blood in that cursed little chapel. Lucifer had been released, and it was only a matter of time before he would claim his tainted vessel. There was still Dean Winchester to contend with, but Zachariah was confident that he could maneuver the pawn to his proper place on the board. Dean Winchester was stubborn, but if Hell could break him then so could Heaven.

But still— _still_ —it made no sense.

Castiel had rarely taken a vessel.

Castiel had rarely dealt directly with humans.

Castiel was loyal to Heaven.

Castiel was loyal to his superiors.

Castiel was a good soldier.

Castiel was a good angel.

What bothered Zachariah most was this nagging feeling that Castiel didn’t rebel on principle. It wasn’t because he abhorred the idea of giving the demons more power than they already had. It wasn’t in the context of the millennia drenched in dark blood and his Sword singing for the next twisted soul. It wasn’t the idea of a promise made to humanity which the angels were then breaking. Surely Castiel did feel these things, surely they wore at him, but in the end it wasn’t principle that made him turn away.

It was the Righteous Man.

Castiel stood firm, if uneasy, he was ready to see the mortal plane remade, he was _ready_ —and then he had a short conversation with a sinful, selfish, failing of a human being and had then cast aside his duty, his brothers, his home, his _Grace_.

For _what?_


End file.
